Read Online Aint too proud to beg sfdg-1 by Susan Donovan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Donovan
Tags: love_contemporary
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agowhen Margot slipped away from them foreverhis mind had not stopped its weaving and churning, not for a second.
Richard Rousseau was no dullard. The young man was as thorough and cautious a businessman as his father had been, and Cummings had to admire how hed gone about keeping himself and his assets safe. Both his hillside home in San Francisco and his wine country retreat were sewn up tight as a virgindigital motion sensors, heat sensors, automatic lights, and a small army of highly trained security staff. Unfortunately, Cummings hadnt yet found a way to get to any of themthey were well paid, had great benefits, and were loyal to Rousseau. And because the whole Rousseau family was gone and the young man appeared to have no social life whatsoever, there was no one to use as leverage against him.
Rousseau also had taken advantage of every stateside loophole and every offshore safe haven that would protect his inheritance from civil litigation. In fact, Cummings had to admit that Rousseau had gone the route he himself would have taken had he found himself in a similar predicamentif hed murdered an innocent girl, got off with a slap on the wrist, and fled across the country to hide like a coward.
Cummings shut his eyes tight, the rage pummeling his insides. He was well aware that Rousseau had turned over a new leaf as it was so blithely called, but it was for naught. A lifestyle of celibacy, good deeds, and hard work on the West Coast would never erase the devastation hed left behind on the East Coast. A hundred anonymous charitable foundations and a thousand spiritual awakenings couldnt bring Margot back.
Cummings turned his face into the pillow and gritted his teeth against the pain. Rousseau had stolen his daughters life and destroyed the lives of those whod loved her. Rousseau had killed his baby girl, his precious, golden, happy daughter, the only child hed ever had. The young man had suffered physically, but hed survived. Hed healed. And it wasnt right. It would never be right until Rick Rousseau was dead.
Cummings allowed flashes of memory to pass through his mind. Holding Margots hand on the beach. Teaching her how to drive a stick shift.
Watching her walk down the center staircase that October morning, when he suddenly realized his little girl had grown into a beautiful woman, almost overnight.
Cummings cried freely. He knew Julia was so heavily medicated that hed wake the dead before hed ever wake her.
CHAPTER 7
J osie talked on the telephone headset while her fingers clicked at the keyboard. The leisurely lunch had left her short on time, and she had exactly twenty minutes to get her Tuesday obit feature to the city desk, and it was a big one. Paulie Patrakis, sixty-four, beloved owner of San Franciscos Olympia Kitchen restaurant, had keeled over that morning while taking a tray of baklava from the oven. Josie tried to remain objective during the telephone interview with Paulies eldest daughter, but the truth was, news of Paulies death hit her hard. He had been a kind and sweet man, and he made the best baklava this side of the Aegean Sea. Up until very recently, a triangle of his honey-oozing melt-in-the-mouth phyllo had been Josies sensual thrill of choice. But that was before she met Rick.
He worked hard and he loved his family and friends, Paulies daughter, Issy, was saying. He never needed anything fancy to be happy. He woke up every day happy.
Josies fingers flew across the keys, relieved that shed found her lead.
Just then, Gingers head appeared in Josies cubicle doorway. Beas head popped over Gingers shoulder soon after. Josie glanced their way, still typing, when they approached her desk. Since it looked like her friends were parking instead of merely passing by, Josie held up a finger to indicate shed be a minute.
Paulie Patrakis died, Josie mouthed to them.
Gingers face fell. Oh, how sad. He was such a nice man! she whispered.
Then panic hit her expression. What am I going to do for
Richard Rousseau was no dullard. The young man was as thorough and cautious a businessman as his father had been, and Cummings had to admire how hed gone about keeping himself and his assets safe. Both his hillside home in San Francisco and his wine country retreat were sewn up tight as a virgindigital motion sensors, heat sensors, automatic lights, and a small army of highly trained security staff. Unfortunately, Cummings hadnt yet found a way to get to any of themthey were well paid, had great benefits, and were loyal to Rousseau. And because the whole Rousseau family was gone and the young man appeared to have no social life whatsoever, there was no one to use as leverage against him.
Rousseau also had taken advantage of every stateside loophole and every offshore safe haven that would protect his inheritance from civil litigation. In fact, Cummings had to admit that Rousseau had gone the route he himself would have taken had he found himself in a similar predicamentif hed murdered an innocent girl, got off with a slap on the wrist, and fled across the country to hide like a coward.
Cummings shut his eyes tight, the rage pummeling his insides. He was well aware that Rousseau had turned over a new leaf as it was so blithely called, but it was for naught. A lifestyle of celibacy, good deeds, and hard work on the West Coast would never erase the devastation hed left behind on the East Coast. A hundred anonymous charitable foundations and a thousand spiritual awakenings couldnt bring Margot back.
Cummings turned his face into the pillow and gritted his teeth against the pain. Rousseau had stolen his daughters life and destroyed the lives of those whod loved her. Rousseau had killed his baby girl, his precious, golden, happy daughter, the only child hed ever had. The young man had suffered physically, but hed survived. Hed healed. And it wasnt right. It would never be right until Rick Rousseau was dead.
Cummings allowed flashes of memory to pass through his mind. Holding Margots hand on the beach. Teaching her how to drive a stick shift.
Watching her walk down the center staircase that October morning, when he suddenly realized his little girl had grown into a beautiful woman, almost overnight.
Cummings cried freely. He knew Julia was so heavily medicated that hed wake the dead before hed ever wake her.
CHAPTER 7
J osie talked on the telephone headset while her fingers clicked at the keyboard. The leisurely lunch had left her short on time, and she had exactly twenty minutes to get her Tuesday obit feature to the city desk, and it was a big one. Paulie Patrakis, sixty-four, beloved owner of San Franciscos Olympia Kitchen restaurant, had keeled over that morning while taking a tray of baklava from the oven. Josie tried to remain objective during the telephone interview with Paulies eldest daughter, but the truth was, news of Paulies death hit her hard. He had been a kind and sweet man, and he made the best baklava this side of the Aegean Sea. Up until very recently, a triangle of his honey-oozing melt-in-the-mouth phyllo had been Josies sensual thrill of choice. But that was before she met Rick.
He worked hard and he loved his family and friends, Paulies daughter, Issy, was saying. He never needed anything fancy to be happy. He woke up every day happy.
Josies fingers flew across the keys, relieved that shed found her lead.
Just then, Gingers head appeared in Josies cubicle doorway. Beas head popped over Gingers shoulder soon after. Josie glanced their way, still typing, when they approached her desk. Since it looked like her friends were parking instead of merely passing by, Josie held up a finger to indicate shed be a minute.
Paulie Patrakis died, Josie mouthed to them.
Gingers face fell. Oh, how sad. He was such a nice man! she whispered.
Then panic hit her expression. What am I going to do for
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